Before my Grave
by Walking Backwards
Summary: HP/FMA Crossover. Voldemort has discovered a secret he is willing to use at his disposal, but nothing goes right: for anyone. Voldemort's willing to make adjustments. Ed just wants to go home. AU 6th year. Revamped/Continued.
1. Stage Two

_Edit 5/2/12: Fixed some of the grammatical errors in chapters 1-4. Ending of Chapter 4 has been rewritten!_

* * *

Within the magical world it was needless to say, one rather recently raised Dark Lord was . . . quite simply put: up to no good. And such a day indeed it was to initiate his latest scandal, which by all means was intended to send his rather saucy teenaged arch-nemesis scampering in a most undignified manner into a hideously drawn out death, much to Lord Voldemort's giddy pleasure - not that he'd admit, of course, he could possibly be giddy in any fashion whatsoever.

The Day, as the Dark Lord's watery-eyed minion has come to refer this particular day as in his quite disturbed little mind, was much like any other. The evening sun currently painted the skies in several warm hues, making the perfect setting for romantics to stop and indulge themselves in their passions - of course, not that the Dark Lord cared. In fact, in almost an attempt to refute the existence of the sun, he slithered across the room he plagued and pushed open a rather worn and torn door and proceeded to slither, for it certainly could not be called walking, down an ill illuminated staircase to a vast basement which sported only an occasional flicker of dying candle light.

Seven persons watched with baited breath as their Lord seemingly hissed at the window and fled into the basement, leaving no parting grace. The seven were cloaked in long black robes, each with their currently pocketed masks to complete their costumes when necessary. They glanced wearily between one another, except for two, whom merely fidgeted amidst themselves, eyes darting to the door their master had just escaped to.

"Our Lord beckons . . . Let us make haste," a dark haired woman with wild eyes and an almost hysterical voice commanded. And certainly enough, all seven of their left forearms stung painfully. Three others nodded and followed the dark haired woman past the door Lord Voldemort had entered merely moments prior. Three blondes stayed behind momentarily, the youngest of which eyed the basement with a dawning fear. The woman of the group eyed her husband in worry at his haggled appearance and hesitation to follow his sister-in-law. He caught her eye and nodded and they proceeded down the stairs. The boy's grey eyes widened in terror as he sprung forward to catch pace with his parents.

In the basement, Lord Voldemort's lips stretched up in the corners of his mouth in an almost mock of a smile as seven of his followers flanked into a circular position around the room. The room of which, upon closer inspection, had foreign symbols and sentences engraved and inked into the walls, floor, and ceiling. Most notably of which being the large circular symbol painted in a suspicious red on the floor inches in front of Lord Voldemort.

The watery-eyed minion gulped audibly as The Day progressed into Stage Two, as he conveniently named their current predicament. Stage Two in his book was far worse than Stage One, which was simply preparation and waiting. Now Stage Two was where The Day truly began, much to his dismay. His eyes shifted to the burly man several feet to his left and then to the hook nosed man to his right, and began to whimper.

"Wormtail, cease your foolishness at once," snapped Voldemort.

"Y-Yes master, at once sir, of c-course!" Wormtail managed to squeak out before squeezing his eyes shut and wrapping his arms around himself, much as a man in a straight jacket held himself.

"Is it finally time, M' Lord?" asked the dark haired woman.

"Yes . . . the time has indeed arrived. I will soon usurp control over the most powerful weapon this pitiful dimension could possibly imagine . . ." Voldemort replied, lips twisting even further up his face eerily near to where his nose would have resided, but currently occupied by two vertical slits. His crimson eyes seemingly glowed in delight as he imagined his future power.

The hooked nosed man sneered in distaste for a small moment, before glancing over at the blonde man who certainly looked worse for wear. He looked away immediately and set his face into a perfect mask of apathy. His eyes resumed watching his master skim over the words on a scroll – how the Dark Lord was reading, he was caught unaware, as the lighting in the room was barely enough to see one another. He shrugged it off as a glowing red eye side-effect.

"Yes, yes . . . now is the time. Down on your knees at once, and do not say a word!" The order was carried out, with no qualms other than a pathetic whimper from Wormtail.

Stage Two was the worst, Wormtail believed. Stage Two carried out the action, and it was the fear of Stage Three which was to come in mere moments that drove him off the edge. If everything went according to plan, Stage Three would be a relief . . . and if not, well, he'd be dead, and couldn't care less. So he continued to whimper as quietly as possible as he fixed his face in his lap and covered his head with his hands. Voldemort stood tall as he held one arm out, and began to speak.

_"Ego excito vox ultra meus understading, ultra meus vox. vitualamen erant paciscor, paratus universa. Transporto ut mihi plurrimi validus res ex a universitas ultra mei, quod redimio macies mos ut mei!"_

The room was silent as Voldemort used his free hand to pull out a knife, which he promptly slit down the palm of his hand. Blood pooled down onto the floor, onto the large red circle which spanned throughout the majority of the room.

It glowed.

Wormtail shrieked as a sickening lurch of noises made themselves heard, and the floor no longer felt steady under his knees. Screaming, shouting, anger, despair, death, all of it coveted by the glowing array on the floor. Voldemort laughed.

The blonde boy fell backwards from his position as he looked desperately at his mother and father, both of them wide eyed and frantically glancing about. His mother caught his eye and crawled over, unable to stand with the tremors overtaking the room. She held him as Voldemort continued cackling while a black portal opened in front of him.

Voldemort's face contorted into a sickening, leering grin as he watched in morbid fascination as the portal bulged and receded. After several repeats of such behavior, the bulge broke, and several long black arms and hands spun around one another spun forth what seemed in appearance to be a light absorbing black hole. The arms and hands then began to unravel. And as they were receding, a crimson stare met gold.

* * *

Ed could certainly say he was not having a good day. Not within 5,000 miles of a good day, to be precise in his opinion. To begin with, Kimbley and the Furher attempted blackmailing him into cooperation using Winry as a hostage. Not to mention, she went willingly with them, blissfully unaware of the fact that indeed, she was hostage. And so, he had 'agreed' to following those bastards' instructions for the time being, the instructions being to become a human weapon. Like hell he would actually comply. However, for some reason which entirely baffled Ed, Al had not seen through his little lie, and became unnaturally furious with Ed. Al reached through the bars he was currently behind and grabbed Ed by the front of his jacket and yanked him head first into the bars.

"How could you! Brother! You told me you could never become like that! You're just going to let them walk all over you like this?"

Ed stared, utterly bewildered at his brother's outburst, and he ignored the physical pain in his building in his head, and the emotional pain in exploding in his chest over the fact that Al was unable to see through his lie and reacted so violently. Winry took a step backwards and looked between the two brothers.

"I-You-Al . . ." Ed mouthed words, trying to complete a sentence, but he was unable to as his mind was lost in a state of incoherency. Al glared, a feat indeed for a suit of armor, and he roughly pushed Ed backwards into the wall. Ed may have been baffled, but his quarrel with Al was soon pushed aside as he found he was being pulled. Pulled away. Pulled away by the gate. And soon all thoughts of Al were replaced with a well thought, oh _shit._


	2. Inquisition

Ed was not one for reminiscing. Rather, it would be far more accurate to state he tried to avoid bringing back memories as much as possible. All good memories effectively directed his thoughts to _that_ day of October the third, and upon thinking of _that_ day, his mood tended to drop to levels unreachable. For the most part, he did well not directly thinking of it. However, it was always _there_ - just as he intended it to be. His right arm and left leg, his brother's body, the ashes of the place he once deemed home and the pocket watch with _that_ date imbedded in it were constant reminders of where he stood, what he had to accomplish. His mission was to restore Al and himself to their original bodies, and that was it – despite the constant detours.

Following Al's outburst and attack, Ed found himself being pulled in the same fashion he was being pulled _that_ day to the gate. He felt nauseous as though he were being twisted and torn from the inside out, his head rang with a dull throbbing pang, his stomach churned, and screaming voices from God knows where skewered his mind. All reflexes he built up from childhood were discarded from his nervous system as the screaming, howling, bawling, muttering voices forced all logic into an unreachable void.

And then there was nothing but a soft laugh.

One solitary laugh that unequivocally managed to send Ed into an undiluted state of rage. The arms that spirited him away from Al and Winry almost immediately began to waiver, and Ed's anger failed into nothing and sense once again found him.

Then his gaze met crimson.

Once utterly free from groping hands Ed collapsed to the floor, shut his eyes, and stayed almost impossibly still. Ed thought that those red eyes must have burnt into his optic nerves, since his eyes were most certainly shut - almost painfully so, and yet the stare obstinately refused to leave his view. Not that he currently had much of a view, he figured, as his eyelids were firmly glued shut as well as pressed between the crook of his arm where he lay crumpled on the floor. He didn't know where he was. When he was able to take in his surroundings for that split second, he knew he was in quite the predicament. What appeared to be a chimera at first site stood before him, and Ed knew better than to assume it had good intentions. So he lay still, poised to spring when he had the upper hand.

Nothing in the room moved for several moments, until a shuddering gasp escaped someone's throat (a _man's_ throat, Ed thought), as though they had been holding it in.

Which they probably were considering the first to resound was Wormtail, whom of which's face went from a rather vicious shade of purple to a sickly white within seconds of taking in air. Ed could hear shuffling from all sides of the room.

The hook nosed man changed his line of vision from the crumpled disaster of red and gold unmoving in the center of the room to Voldemort, whom of which was seemingly trying to set ablaze the monstrosity on the ground with a determined stare. Or so the man imagined. Any other reason to stare at such horrid colors with such resolve was utterly lost on him.

"Crabbe," at this, the burly man snapped his neck up to pinpoint his gaze at his master, "see if it is conscious . . . there is a high probability it is merely taking the guise of a human. Do try to keep your neck intact." Voldemort leered and spoke his last words with evident sarcasm, as if seeing Crabbe's thick neck snap off would please him endlessly. Which probably would, thought the sallow faced man as he itched his large nose. The dark haired woman snorted.

"Powerful beast indeed. What dreadful taste it must have to take the guise of a _runt_ of all things." Oddly enough, no one noticed said runt suppressing a vicious twitch and the atmosphere in the room becoming lethal.

The hefty man stood and straightened himself up off the floor, where he managed to fall into a heap among the chaos, and he hunched his broad shoulders and hauled himself over to the pile in the center of the circle with a troll-like grunt. Being obviously daft, he took no heed to the warning Voldemort had issued moments prior, and his poor excuse of a brain was unable to register any surprise as a solid fist connected with his temple and his mind fell into a beautiful oblivion. The effect was instantaneous, several shouts of '_stupefy!'_ could be identified along with just as many jets of red light zooming dangerously close to the small bulk of red and gold which seemed to be shirking the attacks with ease, as most shots were aimed inches above his head, much to Ed's dire annoyance and relief.

As Ed evaded the suspicious beams of light jetting past him, he set his eyes on the dark haired woman who was currently making rather ridiculous war cries ('_Huwaa! Gwah!')_ and poses in the process of trying to target him. His face broke into dark grin, as he recognized the loony voice to be the one which spouted blasphemy about him moments ago. Ed proceeded to make a ridiculous war cry of his own.

"Who's the runt now?" he shouted as a strong right foot collided with the woman's throat.

"Bellatrix!" shouted a blonde woman as Bellatrix made a pathetic sound not unlike a noise someone would produce after finding out they had just eaten their favorite pet cat. She skidded across the room and hit the wall, wand forgotten as she clutched at her throat and tried to regain her breath.

Two down, Ed reasoned, and as he glanced around the poorly lit room he realized he was at a terrible disadvantage even disregarding the odds in number; he was running around in a bright red jacket as they blended in with the darkness. Ed grinned again, eyes ablaze as he ran around the room evading red lights, cackling not unlike a lunatic.

Oh, how he loved a good fight.

He ran up towards a sallow faced man with a suspiciously large nose and was thrown yet another cry of _stupefy_ which, unfortunately for Ed, was unable to avoid entirely and reflexively brought up his right arm to fend it off.

Severus Snape was by no means a fool. There wasn't a whole lot he didn't know anything at all about, what with having read hundreds of books detailing the dark arts and teaching hundreds of dunderheads at Hogwarts _and_ having to witness their horrid potion brewing skills year after year.

He remembered when Longbottom's cauldron exploded, resulting in half of his dungeon sparkling pink for well over a week.

Snape shuddered.

_Horrible_ things he knew of indeed.

Even so, Snape had never seen _this _before. Seven Death Eaters occupied the room, all whom of which were exemplary at offensive attacking (excluding, perhaps, the Pettigrew fool anyways). He dawdled on the thought a moment longer. Perhaps Crabbe as well then he decided. To be _that_ dense… honestly. Seven trained fighters, despite the more_ obvious_ flaws, versus some little boy Voldemort summoned Merlin knows how. Snape knew the spell was supposed to bring forth some powerful being from another dimension, as he was the one who was forced to locate the damned spell in the first place, but judging from the way the boy kicked Bellatrix's throat in and began cackling much like Snape had when he was younger and planning his 'Get Revenge on Potter and Black' schemes, he knew the boy was merely a rather sadistic monkey-like, _well_, runt.

Once the boy finished with Bellatrix and scampered over in Snape's direction, he knew he'd have to lure the child straight to him and wait until he was almost too close before attacking, as the boy was far too fast for his own good. He definitely excelled in evasion - that much was certain, Snape thought as the boy performed an impressive series of flips over some spells cast by the three Malfoys. The boy continued his bee-line towards Snape, and when he was within a few steps of him Snape pointed his wand and spoke out '_Stupefy'._ The boy's eyes widened in surprise as the light came at him, and he instantaneously shielded his face with his right arm. However, rather than joining Crabbe in the Land of the Fortunately Unconscious, this boy stayed very much awake, currently performing a seizure's worth of back flips away from Snape into a more secluded area away from his attackers. The boy had somehow deflected the spell to the ground, with nothing but an arm.

"That is enough." an oddly high pitched voice ordered. Voldemort had been watching the exchange with a faint interest. At first he honestly thought his summon was disguising itself in human form. Voldemort was intelligent enough to demise otherwise after a few moments of study. The five standing Death Eaters stopped firing, but stayed tensed and poised to attack. He directed his red gaze at the boy, who was still standing in a defensive position. "You... what is your name?"

Ed could say he was surprised. What he thought of saying was more of a 'Why the hell should I tell you?' What came out instead was, "You are one hell of an ugly bastard."

Wormtail whimpered as fury rolled off of Voldemort in painfully sharp jolts, causing the more sane and conscious Death Eaters to stiffen in anticipation of an _Avada Kedavra._ It did not come, and Voldemort changed his query slightly.

"Tell me your name," he hissed. Ed opened his mouth and his eyes went wide, then he clamped his mouth shut and settled for a heated glare. Voldemort's lips stretched up widely at this. "Tell me immediately."

"Edward Elric." Ed replied before acknowledging he spoke. As his mind caught up with his traitorous mouth he looked up in utter horror and revulsion. "You bastard! What in the hell did you do to me?"

Snape knew why Ed had no control over his tongue, but decided not to speak up as the Dark Lord seemed to experience some sort of sick power trip during the explanations which were bound to humiliate someone. Voldemort's face was still contorted into a twisted grin. He didn't plan on enlightening his captive any time soon.

"Tell me, where are you from? Always answer immediately… for future reference." All of Voldemort's fury had been replaced by a terrifying glee.

"Risembool. Amestris." Ed answered through grit teeth, focusing on answering as curtly as possible, as he found he could not stop himself from answering completely. Voldemort looked intrigued.

"Amestris being the country, I presume?" Ed nodded stiffly. "I see . . . well it seems the spell carried some merit to it after all. No such place as Amestris exists here." Voldemort knew he would elicit a reaction. Ed's demeanor changed as he took a step back and shook his head in skepticism.

"That's ridiculous. Spell? Dimension? Who do you think I am? I'm not some kind of idiot like that dumbass over there." Ed pointed his thumb in the direction of the still unconscious hulking figure of Crabbe.

"Indeed? Not an idiot? A fool then, perhaps? A… muggle? You seem rather skeptical when using the word spell. Do explain." Voldemort's voice was smooth, the type of voice used to speak to a child or to mock somebody. Ed knew the mutant was using it in both respects. He scoffed.

"Spells connote the use of magic. Only children believe in that sort of thing. Science is law. And considering that you're the one talking about magic, I'd have to say _you're_ the fool here. And what kind of stupid word is 'muggle'?" Ed's patience took a plunge. Voldemort simply stared.

"Is this boy serious?" Bellatrix managed to croak, as she persisted to regain a steady breath. "No such thing as magic, he believes?" She snorted in disdain. "To think, a _mudblood_ was able to incapacitate me! I'm disgusted with myself . . . M' lord forgive me, I have no excuse for myself." Bellatrix fell to her knees and made some pathetic noise she clearly must have stolen from Wormtail. Voldemort spared her no heed. Ed however, glared at her with calculating eyes.

"Tell me, if you are unaware of the existence of magic how, pray tell, were you able deflect a stunning spell fired from within two meters of you?" questioned Voldemort, using the same smooth voice.

This was the question Snape wanted to know the answer to. He saw no means of defense performed by the boy other than a defending arm, and clothes charmed to resist spells in the _magical_ world were near impossible to come by. Charmed clothing was certainly out of the question. So he waited for the response.

Ed had never been more baffled. Here were a group of people, all but one being adults and the last no child either, wholly convinced magic existed. Ed had noticed during the battle their odd fighting style. Beams of light coming from sticks. Ed figured the sticks were made from some sort of material to enhance an alchemic reaction, much as Colonel Mustang's gloves induced sparks. But these people… or in Ed's opinion, people and a thing, they honestly believed in magic? Ed shook his head and answered the question.

"I don't know." Oh, Ed had a good idea what deflected it, however, he didn't know for certain. He was never ordered to speak the entirety of his thoughts, and he was going to make use of every teeny hole these weirdoes dug themselves. He wasn't called a genius for nothing after all, and they obviously underestimated him. Inwardly he grinned; glad he didn't use alchemy just yet, or reveal his mechanical limbs. He knew they just thought him to be a flip crazed little boy. Ed's eye twitched as he knowingly called himself little. Damn traitorous brain.

"I see . . ." Voldemort was steadily growing bored, but something raised his attention. "I wonder then, if perhaps you are spell proof? Bellatrix, do your part." The woman's eyes lit up at the prospect of torture, and she stood up in glee and took aim.

"_Crucio_."

Ed didn't know what was coming at him, but he knew if he revealed his trump card now, his chances of escape fell dramatically. He needed to wait for the opportune moment. Or rather, when seven people playing cult weren't pointing possibly lethal sticks at him. He figured they wouldn't kill him just yet and prepared himself for the hit. The green light hit him square in the chest, and he felt pain beyond any physical pain he endured before. What ever this was, it tore at his every nerve, his every cell. His body screamed in agony, and he noticed his throat vibrating and then the unmistakable fact emerged that he was screaming as well. Screaming loudly.

_Crucio_, he concluded, was definitely something to avoid in the future.

* * *

Draco Malfoy didn't know what to make of the situation. In fact, he didn't have the slightest clue as to how he managed to tumble into this catastrophe to begin with. At the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, his father had been arrested – caught in the act of aiding the Dark Lord. Draco was livid.

For a month, his mind was in turmoil. It was Potter's fault, it was Potter's fault, it was Potter's fault. He wanted to _kill_ that boy, if not get a few cruciatus curses in at the very least. He wanted him to pay dearly. Since his father's arrest, the Malfoy name was tarnished. People refused to acknowledge them as they used to any longer – with reverence, he told himself. And Draco was sick of the stares, sick of the whisperings, sick of the _shame_.

Then Voldemort seized Azkaban.

He had his father back, but not the way he needed him to be. Their name was still spat at by the hypocrites who had the gall to believe in their superiority to the mudbloods, but remained too frightened to join the war, too frightened to earn their freedom away from hiding behind magical barriers - to hide themselves from the _muggles_ of all people. Draco _hated_ it. So he told himself that he would make a difference. Show the fools they needed to take action to truly earn their superiority.

He sorely regretted ever thinking such now.


	3. Details

It was a mistake on his part, Draco was very aware. Yet, then again it wasn't as if you could just tell the most powerful wizard in the world 'no'.

"Though at the bloody time you hadn't wanted to say _no_," countered a bitter voice from the far corner of a well lit dungeon. Draco sighed and shifted uncomfortably in a plain tattered oak chair. He brushed his hand through his hair, and laid his head back so that it was hanging slightly over the edge of his chair. "I'm such a fool," he muttered and as he closed his eyes he pinched the bridge of his nose in hopes of clearing his head.

An obnoxious snort could be heard a short distance in front of him. Draco opened one grey eye and managed a weak glare directed at the blonde boy behind a set of bars, frowning all the while.

The dungeon they were stationed in had no redeeming feature. The walls were stone, the floors were stone, the roof was stone, and hell, Draco wouldn't doubt for a second that the bars of the prison were made of stone as well. He supposed the architect lacked any smidge of creativity (or had a stone fetish), because certainly enough after closer inspection, the bars were made of stone as well. The only piece of furniture in the narrow dungeon was the very chair Draco was sitting on, which Wormtail had most graciously conjured for Draco not long ago. Draco scoffed as he leaned forward and found the chair legs to be uneven, causing the chair to lurch awkwardly whenever he moved in the slightest.

Draco focused on his thoughts, making sure not speak out loud to himself in the process again. Thank Merlin his father wasn't there to see _that_, he thought. Just weeks ago, the Dark Lord won the allegiance of the dementors and retrieved all his followers that had fallen into the hands of the ministry. Narcissa and Draco were ecstatic to know Lucius was away from that hell, but when they were rejoined with him he no longer possessed the same spirit he once did. He stayed with the Dark Lord out of fear, not loyalty. Draco now began to suspect it might have been like that a very long time.

At the time however, Draco wanted to regain his family's honor. So when he was given the option to aid the Dark Lord, he hadn't hesitated.

He felt very differently merely hours after his initiation.

"Kill Dumbledore is it? Oh yes, no problem at all Sir. Of course I can single handedly murder one of the most revered and powerful wizard on the whole bloody planet, one of which you yourself haven't been able to kill in, what was it? Fifty somewhat years?" he paused, "Damn it. I'm doing it again." The platinum blonde stood up and began pacing furiously, adamantly ignoring the bored gold gaze following his every move.

"You know, they say the first sign of insanity is talking to yourself. And I'm pretty sure pacing is somewhere on the list as well. You might wanna consider seeing a doctor." Ed suggested rather monotonously.

Draco glared at the blonde behind bars and stopped pacing. He slummed against the dungeon wall and slid down until he was in a sitting position on the floor, trying not to think of how unsanitary the floor must be. He was too frustrated to maintain his usual pristine appearance as it was. His hair fell into his eyes in strands, the gel having worn out the day prior, and a layer of grime seemed to have collected about him during his stay in the Dark Lord's current hideout. He looked at his hand and sneered in disgust upon noticing the dirt accumulating beneath his fingernails. He wanted a nice long _bath_.

But, alas, here he was becoming one with the very filth he had once viciously conquered daily. He grumbled to himself some more and cast a quick scouring charm at his hands.

Ed sighed as he watched his 'guard' complain to himself about the 'dreadful living conditions' and 'impossible tasks' and 'servant work.'

After Ed's encounter with the cruciatus curse several times ("One for each breath I struggled regaining!" queue cackling here), he was dragged up out of the cellar he had arrived in (Ed could _swear_ someone was dragging him but he couldn't see anyone touching him), and then he was disgracefully tossed down some more stairs into a long corridor-like dungeon rowed with cells. He was taken to the farthest cell in the room and left with the frazzled blonde boy, whom of which Ed thought he caught the name of Draco. They had been down here about an hour. Now Ed could make an escape at any moment; with a trademark clap and touch of flooring, he could trap the other blonde under a blanket of stone, and proceed in his escape. If there were only eight people currently in the building, escape should be simple enough. The problem was the snake-man glowing-red-eyed mutant . . . thing. If Ed was even in hearing distance of him, he could be ordered to stop and that would be the end of it. Apparently that thing was the only one with power over him. That psycho woman tried to get him to beg her to stop, but it hadn't worked.

Frankly, Ed didn't know how powerful the whole follow-the-order thing went, but he wasn't willing to risk it. Once they found out about his alchemy, he may as well be a dying fish in their grasp; a fish far, far away from water. So he decided to wait. Apparently the mutant thing was the leader of their group - he gave the orders, they called him Lord - Ed took a wild guess that he was in command around here. And when a leader goes somewhere, its usually made known to the underlings he's off somewhere. Or so Ed hoped. He didn't know much about typical commander-subordinate relationships, but figured that Mustang probably told Hawkeye and them when he went flirting off somewhere. Then again, he didn't know much about people who wore black dresses and carried pointy looking sticks either.

So he was at the moment, stuck.

Stuck with these weirdoes who believed in _magic,_ no less.

Not to mention he had no idea what they wanted with him. From what he could deduce, they tried some sort of _summoning_ _spell_ to call forth a powerful being and blah, blah, blah. They got him instead.

Joy.

Then they even had the guts to tell him Amestris didn't exist. Amestris was the most powerful military capital in the world! Who were they trying to fool? Ed sighed. There wasn't anything rational he could do at the moment. He just had to wait. Or not, he figured, as he once again took to staring at the rather frazzled boy who took up pacing again.

"Hey you." Nothing.

"Hey, pointy-chin." Pace, pace, pace.

"Blondey boy!" Denied.

"Oi!" Ed was beginning to get annoyed. "Stop pacing! You're driving _me_ insane here!" He got a glare in return. Ed then muttered, "What's wrong with you anyways?" Draco tensed up as he turned to glare at the pestering inmate.

"Would you shut up already? Bloody annoying midget," Draco shouted. Ed leapt up angrily.

"You wanna say that again?" Ed growled out, glowering at the other boy.

Draco looked over, amusement flooding through him at actually getting a reaction from the prisoner.

"What, midget?" Ed's glare increased. "What, ashamed about your height? Well that's too bad Shorty. Shrimp, half-pint, dwarf..." he rambled as many names as he could, and Ed's glare increased with each word.

Eventually, Ed's limit broke and he howled at Draco and attempted to grab at him through the bars.

He was short reached.

Draco was absolutely delighted. It had been over a month since he's had any fun. And teasing people happened to be his most favorite thing to do, especially when the person was easily baited. This was beyond easy. His victim couldn't even properly defend himself! He was about to retort, when a voice echoed down from the entrance of the dungeon.

"Draco? What's the ruckus?" Narcissa asked.

Draco turned to look at her, a faint grin still adorning his face. Narcissa appeared surprised at seeing him in a good mood, and her lip twitched in response and her face lost some of its worry.

"Nothing, Mother. Just having a nice chat with the prisoner," he said rather cheerfully.

Narcissa turned to look at the boy behind bars. He was currently gripping both bars tightly with his teeth clenched, a twitching eyebrow, and a heated glare directed at Draco. It wasn't difficult to put the pieces together.

"Draco, please try not to anger him, you saw what he did to Crabbe and Bella earlier today…" she scolded as Draco frowned.

"Fine. I'll leave him alone for a while. Can't say the same for when I get too bored though."

Narcissa knew he was lying. Although he may relent slightly on tormenting the prisoner at her request, he certainly would not become bored. Not with what he has on his mind. She nodded and stepped closer to her son and pulled him into an embrace.

"I wish you hadn't been pulled into this, Draco. I'd do anything to protect you from His horrors. If you find a way out of it, please, forget about your father and myself, and keep safe." She said this in a low whisper, obviously intending for only Draco to hear.

Unfortunately, Ed had excellent hearing when he chose to, and heard every last word. He frowned and contemplated her statement. Obviously, they didn't want to follow the mutant thing. Not that Ed blamed them. Draco flinched back.

"It'll be fine. I'll do what he wants and everything'll be fine again. We'll be back in his good graces, a-and we'll have nothing to fear anymore. I'm not going to run away…" his voice cracked slightly on his last word.

Ed figured running away must have been exactly what he wanted to do. He watched as Narcissa smiled bitterly. Ed noticed the woman was very pretty, despite her current state of worry. She hugged him once more and pushed him back to study his face. She nodded, released her hold on him and turned to leave.

"Don't let us hold you back. Remember that."

Her footsteps made a soft echo throughout the dungeon as she went down the corridor, not once turning to look back at Draco as she climbed up the stairs. The echoes of her footfalls diminished with each step she climbed. Draco watched as her long and once beautiful platinum blonde hair vanished from view, and was left feeling cold and alone.

Ed stepped back and slumped against the wall. It was times like these he couldn't help but miss his mother… his brother as well, in this case. He had no idea whatsoever about where he was, or how to get back to Al from here. He grimaced and looked at the wall to his right. He left during the middle of a messy conversation with his brother, going back to clear _that_ up was not going to be fun, but Ed knew Al would realize what he really meant to do after thinking on it a bit. If there was anyone who knew Ed, it was undoubtedly Al. Ed sensed someone staring at him, and turned to stare back at Draco.

Draco yanked his eyes away from Ed when their eyes met and found himself studying a presumably interesting slab of stone. He had a serious look on his face, though slightly abashed, probably from having been seen hugging his mother. Ed decided to not pester the kid anymore, since the both of them seem to have things they needed to think about. He pulled his heavy coat tightly around him as a chill swept through the already frigid dungeon. Ed settled himself on the floor, thankful for the first time that he had been in North City's miserable weather.

"Are you really from that Amestris place you said you were from earlier?" Draco asked.

Ed looked up, startled that the boy began a normal conversation instead of a jab at his height. Really, Ed was surprised because he thought the boy wouldn't want to talk to him for some time, as he seemed to have a lot on his mind.

Ed could relate.

"Yeah. Why? Where is this?" Ed questioned back. Draco grimaced and thought on it for a second.

"I haven't a clue, to be honest. We could be in Greenland or Brazil right now for all I know." Draco snorted. Ed looked up, confusion evident on his face. Draco looked at him in mild surprise. "You really are from another dimension, aren't you?"

"You're probably just making up random names trying to confuse me right now. Yup, that's gotta be it." Ed growled out.

He huffed and crossed his arms, bringing his knees up to his chest. Draco looked at him curiously.

"How did you learn to fight like that?"

"Fight like what?" Ed ground out, disgruntled at the continued questioning.

"You know . . . the punching and the kicking, the flips and the jumps. All of it. I've never seen anyone move so fast before either. At least, not with their legs, brooms are another thing entirely." Draco tried explaining.

Ed had a thought.

"You mean you've never seen anyone physically fight before?"

"Well, of course of I've seen people fight before! There's always some prat at school who manages to a win a good punch to the face or knee to the groin every now and then. But I've never seen anything like what you were doing." Draco didn't realize he was speaking of himself when he mentioned prats. Ed shrugged.

"I get in fights a lot. Learning to fight is much more effective than using pointy sticks after all," he took a stab.

"Pointy… you – what, pointy stick?" He yanked out his 'pointy stick'. "This here is called a wand, you fool!" For extra effect, he jabbed his wand in Ed's direction. "Don't tell me there's no such thing as magic where you're from! Or worse yet, don't tell me you're a _muggle_." He said his last word in disgust and eyed him suspiciously. Ed shrugged again and looked away disinterestedly.

"No such thing a magic. And I don't know what a muggle is, so I couldn't tell you if I was or wasn't one." Ed examined his fingernails, not liking the new subject matter.

Draco gaped at him.

"No such thing… unbelievable. Look here," Draco pointed his wand at the shabby chair Wormtail conjured earlier. "_Magis prodigus._" The cheap plywood chair grew into a large and extravagant decorative chair, with an excessive amount of ornate designs covering every inch of the now (seemingly) oak chair.

Ed felt a bit flummoxed, and maybe even nauseous. The original chair was scanty, barren, and small. Though changing the chair to be 'prettier' would be easy enough for Ed, this new chair looked large and _heavy_. Equivalent exchange went out the window. Ed frowned, slightly perturbed.

"Push that chair over here," Ed ordered. He stood up and went over to the bars. Draco sent him a distrustful glance, but figured a chair couldn't do much damage to anyone. He pushed it within the prisoner's reach. Ed got a vague feel for the weight; it was far too heavy for any single chair in Ed's opinion. And were those embellishments silver plated?

"Turn it back to the way it was before."

"Why?" Draco was confused.

"Just do it already!" Ed snapped.

"What if I don't want to? I'm not just going to do every little thing you say, you know. I like the chair how it is, and its staying that way!" Draco became haughty.

A vein on Ed's forehead began to bulge.

"Would you just change the damned chair back? I want to see something really quick. Then you can change it back to this after!" Draco was really beginning to get on Ed's nerves.

Draco sniffed and muttered a small 'fine' and reversed the spell. Ed grabbed the chair again and lifted it. It couldn't have weighed more than a few pounds. Ed took a step back in surprise. Draco, taking this as a sign Ed was done doing _whatever_ it was that he was doing, changed the chair back to how he preferred it, and plopped down into it with a well said _humph._

Ed went back to his spot against the wall and contemplated the change of mass. Perhaps those sticks (no, _wands)_ were some sort of alchemic enhancers like the philosopher's stone, except _not_ the philosopher stone. If that were the case… perhaps Ed could use it to return Al and himself back to normal. He eyed the haughty blonde boy, who currently seemed to be sulking. Chances of getting a wand out of _these_ people were slim. Ed needed to escape before he could do anything. But his first priority is finding out where he was. These people kept mentioning other dimensions, but that was just utterly ridiculous. Ed's thoughts drifted to the gate.

Was it so ridiculous after all?

"What's got your knickers in a knot?" a grumpy voice interrupted Ed's thoughts.

Ed jerked his head back up to his neglected guard and narrowed his eyes.

"What's a muggle?" Ed questioned.

Draco lifted an eyebrow.

* * *

Three days passed. Occasionally an odd little creature would pop out of no where. The first time it had appeared Ed fell backwards from shock, which seemed to amuse Draco to no end, but then Ed found out it was called a house elf, and was there to make sure that the both of them were still alive – and to keep them that way. The first time it came bearing food Draco's eyes lit up in anticipation. He recoiled in revulsion when he discovered it to be some sort of tasteless gruel. Ed then had to endure his complaints for several hours about how _he_ of all people was receiving the same meal as a prisoner, which Ed countered with the fact that at least Draco got more than him.

"Well of course I got more than _you_. They don't need to waste so much food on someone so small. I'm surprised you managed to finish as much as you did." Needless to say, the following 'conversation' did not go so well.

Most of the time was spent in silence. Both had things to think about. Draco often twirled his wand between his fingers, slumped forward to rest his chin on his free hand and sulked. He didn't want to be there, he didn't want to follow the orders he was assigned to, and he desperately wanted some _food,_ damn it. _Real_ food.

Occasionally one of the two would come out of their funk and question or make fun of the other, but as for interaction between the two, that was it. Ed all the while, paid immaculate attention to detail. There was a daily routine in the dungeons. Twice a day Draco's mother (although one time it was his father) would come down and take over his job for a while so that he may use the restroom, freshen up or take a stroll outside and get some sun. The last of which Draco bragged about several times. Ed didn't want to admit it, but he was jealous. Dungeons really weren't his kind of place. Draco somehow managed to figure this out and brought it up again and again – much to his own amusement of course.

After three days of the same routine, a variation occurred. The big bad mutant himself came down for a visit.

Neither of the boys were doing anything at the time and when soft steps were heard, both presumed them to be Draco's mother. Draco looked up expectantly and opened his mouth to say something. He stopped suddenly and paled when he realized the figure was several shades too pale and much too tall to be his mother. Draco stood up and took a step back away from the chair and bowed hastily. The red eyed thing (Man? Ed questioned himself,) ignored Draco and sat in his chair. Judging from his tight lips and half narrowed eyes, Ed could only conclude he wasn't in a good mood. Snake-face was the first to speak.

"In your world, there is no magic," he stated, "does that also mean there are no creatures other than human beings and typical animals? Answer honestly now." Snake-face seemed rather impatient in Ed's opinion.

Ed figured he spent the past few days trying to figure out how he ended up with Ed, rather than the expected powerful creature. He concluded to be a good thing, as impatient people tended not to think thoroughly.

"For the most part, yeah, pretty much," Ed replied. He went into slightly more detail to make it seem as if he cared the snake-face knew the whole truth. "But there are also homunculi. There are very few of them, and they really just like to plague people, create wars and general havoc and etcetera." The etcetera being the important part, Ed thought and grinned inwardly.

"Homunculi? As in artificially created human beings? Has science in your world developed that greatly?" Voldemort seem faintly interested.

"Yup." And that was the extent of his answer.

"Do these beings differ from regular humans in any way?"

"Yes. They are sick minded, havoc creating annoyances that need to be beaten into bloody pulps. They look and act like any normal human being, and blend into society. Then they strike. Whoever created them obviously has a vendetta against the world. But as far as I've heard, only a few people know who that person is, and they're all high up in the government. I think." Ed said, referring mostly to the Fuhrer.

His focus once again returned to answering as little as possible, yet making it appear as though he was speaking the entire truth. He didn't want share any more than he had to, and he definitely did not want to piss this freak off. Ed glanced over to where Draco was standing – as the mutant was sitting in his chair. His posture was ramrod straight and his eyes were nervously darting between Ed's interrogator and the floor.

"So, these beings posses no magical powers at all?"

"No," Ed replied, "None at all." Ed didn't quite know exactly _what_ gave the homunculi their odd powers, but Ed still refused to believe in magic, even after Draco's display.

Snake-face only asked a few more questions, such as whether Ed was one of those homunculi, and once Ed responded no and talked a bit about Amestris, mutant-man seemed to completely lose interest and left. Ed sighed a breath of relief as he was half expecting to be tortured. Apparently, he was playing the Good Samaritan by Snake-face's book. He was completely oblivious to exactly what Ed wanted him to be oblivious to. Every question asked dealt with magic, the dark arts, and other weird things Ed didn't understand. He hadn't been asked a thing about science. If he had been, chances are things would have gone into a completely different direction. Ed, for once, was glad that there were ignorant people in the universe. He could very well be dead at the moment otherwise.

But anyways – Ed paid attention to detail. After Snake-face left (Ed refused to refer to him as the Dark Lord and doesn't know his real name), he vaguely heard him ordering someone to prepare to leave with him as he climbed up the stairs. Snake-face was leaving, and all Ed had to do was make his move. Ed had been preparing for the moment since the previous night; he wanted it to go as smoothly as possible and decided to start preparing early, just in case something like this happened.

Over the past few days, Draco had tried calling someone down to take his place several times, he even tried to get the house elf to take over once. The rather tense looking elf looked over at Ed with wide eyes at the time and with a '_pop!_' it disappeared, much to Draco's dismay. Ed figured it was because the first time it came within Ed's reach, he grabbed it and tried to figure out what sort of chimera it was. Ed assumed it didn't like being hung upside down and shook up and down, and though Draco said it should be used to such treatment, Ed had his doubts.

As of yet, Draco only needed to use the restroom twice a day – when one of his parents came down. So simply enough, Ed stopped drinking. And as the cups were not refillable, much to Draco's displeasure, he took advantage of Ed's lack of thirst, and drank his share as well. All Ed had to do was wait. His chance was coming _very_ soon – Draco's mother was sure not to come down for several more hours.


	4. A Day Alone

If there was one thing Severus Snape would never do, it would be to die in front of the house Sirius Black lived in the first 16 years of his life. No Sir. He would not give the mutt that satisfaction, for certainly, he'd never hear the end of it in the afterlife, and an eternity _must_ be a long time.

But there he was, head spinning after he'd apparated to the doorstep in front of 12 Grimmauld Place, clawing at the door to get someone to let him in, as for some reason the door was locked. Why they needed to lock the door when they already had a fidelius charm on the place was beyond Snape. When the door opened, he fell to the floor, only half inside of the house. He heard a few gasps and soon after felt someone's hands pull him inside. He felt himself be hoisted up and set on what he assumed was a couch. When he opened an eye he found himself staring at the concerned faces of Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks, and Alastor Moody.

"Wotcher Snape, who'd you manage to piss off this time?" questioned Tactless Tonks.

"The – Dark – Lord," Snape bit out. Tonks had the sense to look ashamed. He urged, "I need to see Dumbledore. Immediately."

"Dumbledore's at the school… he's been looking for you. Seems you've been out a while, huh?" Moody's gruff voice permeated the room. "How about you let us take a look at you first before you try flooing yourself out of here. You look like you'd toss your lunch if you so much as moved." He said as his electric blue eye spun wildly.

"I'm fine. I merely had a close up with a few cruciatus curses. It's nothing I can't get over… now if you don't mind…" He began to sit up, but cringed when his ribs started aching.

"There's no need to rush, Snape. You've been gone a while, rest a few minutes while I fill you in, alright?" requested Shacklebolt. He pushed Snape back down on the couch and stood up. He brushed his red auror robes off from where he'd been kneeling on the floor, and took a few steps back from Snape. "We're currently not using 12 Grimmauld Place as headquarters. And judging from the fact you apparated here, you clearly didn't know that." He glanced at Snape who nodded in confirmation. "Since Black passed away, the inheritance of the house is rather unclear. By all blood rights, it should legally belong to Bellatrix Lestrange. However in Black's will, he left the house to Harry. But as Harry is still a minor, no one is sure if Black's will is legitimate or not. And seeing as the possible owner is a Death Eater, we've decided that we couldn't take the risk of being found out. The three of us are here now gathering anything the Order may have left behind, as well as any dark artifacts we couldn't afford a Death Eater getting their hands on."

"Guess that means you're lucky you came when you did, eh Snape?" asked Moody. "Now why don't you key us in on what you've been up to – and why Voldemort deemed you worthy of the cruciatus curse." Snape sat up.

"Take me to Dumbledore and perhaps you'll find out." Snape evaded. "I have no desire to tell the tale twice."

Moody grunted, while Shacklebolt and Tonks exchanged glances. Tonks fiddled with a piece of mousy brown hair hanging in front of her eyes. It was only then Snape noticed her sullen appearance in contrast to her usual disturbingly bright one. He didn't bring it up.

"Alright then, make sure you don't fall down this time." The ex-auror concluded.

Snape nodded and threw his legs over the side of the couch he had been laid upon. The couch had several stains and was torn in several places. He sneered as he realized it must have been infested with Merlin knows what kind of germs. He shook his head as he realized he'd been spending too much time with Lucius and Narcissa. He staggered over to the fireplace and grabbed the floo powder, throwing it into the hearth. Large green flames came to life before him and as he stepped into them he firmly spoke out "_Dumbledore's Office."_

After a worse than usual trip through the floo network (a pleasant side-effect courteous of the cruciatus curse), he found himself teetering forward out of the fireplace in Dumbledore's office. As he stumbled out, he noticed the office had lost several of the silvery instruments which used to adorn the shelves. He moved forward to the desk from where Dumbledore was looking up at him in mild surprise and concern. Snape heard three others floo in behind him, one of which tripping in the process of stepping out of the hearth.

"Severus?" probed Dumbledore. Snape straightened himself and looked firmly at Dumbledore with as much dignity as he could muster.

"We have a serious problem."

Four people's hearts dropped.

* * *

Draco was squirming.

In the three days Ed had been locked up, he learned a lot about his guard. Now, not typical things like his favorite color – hell, Ed didn't even know the kid's last name, but when it came down to the other's personality and reactions, Ed had a good gist of what to expect. The other boy was smart and sharp witted no doubt, but his arrogance and selfishness hindered his intelligence considerably. And best of all (for Ed), he was naïve. He obviously didn't know what he wanted from life, and from what Ed could tell… he was making all the wrong decisions.

It had been ten minutes since the mutant-snake-thing left Ed, and presumably left the building as well. And Ed didn't want to wait much longer to make his move. If he really wanted to, he could attempt a break out at that very moment, but he didn't know for sure what he was up against once he got out. He planned on making his way out as quietly as possible – something he wasn't quite used to.

But it never hurt to try something new.

Draco once again began one of his muttering streaks.

"Really shouldn't have drank so much water . . ." Squirm, shift, mutter. "Where's the bloody replacements when you need them, huh?" He complained. "Argh, I can't hold it in much longer!"

Ed smirked as he watched him struggle to stay still in his seat.

"Why don't you just go then? It's not like I'm going anywhere . . ." _as long as you're still here, anyways._ Ed snorted. "Or you're always welcome to use one of the cells you know. They're very accommodating as you can see. A nice hole in each one of them, for situations much as the one you're currently in." Ed knew he'd retaliate.

"Use one of the cells? Are you mad? I'm not some lowly prisoner such as yourself, and I would never lower myself to use such accommodations!" he took the bait. "And stop listening to me when I'm talking to myself!" he snapped.

Ed snorted again and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, right. I forgot I was talking to Mr. Aristocrat here. And it's kinda hard to just ignore the only sound in the whole room. Especially when it sounds like an annoying little girl whining." Ed shot.

Draco stood up, clenched his fists and teeth, and glared vehemently at Ed.

"I – do _not_ – sound – like a little girl whining," he spat out venomously. "Bloody midget," he muttered.

Ed's ears perked and his eye began to twitch.

"You say something?"

"No, of _course_ not. Moron, of course I said something! What are you, deaf?" Draco shot back.

"At least I'm not the one being pushed over into doing something out of _fear_!" Ed really couldn't handle insults well.

Draco stiffened, immediately noticing the implications.

"That's none of your business. And I'm not scared, I follow the Dark Lord willingly. Besides, what do you know anyways? You don't even know what the Dark Lord is capable of, you haven't seen the things he's done, you don't know how _powerful_ he is. _No one_ can stand in his way and survive, and I'm not foolish enough to even consider going against him. You'd be doing yourself a favor if you just gave up your allegiance to him. Maybe then you'd be out from behind bars, and_ I_ could actually go do something," said Draco in attempt to defend himself.

Ed folded his arms and stared at him.

"Maybe I don't know anything about Snake-face," Draco cringed at the nick name, "but I do know a lot about you. Don't even start to say I don't, because even if you haven't, I _have_ been paying attention. You talk a lot, you know, even in your sleep. I know that you're worried about your parents, I know that you're afraid of what might happen to you, I know you don't really want to kill this Dumbledee guy you keep muttering about, I know you don't want to be here in this place, and I know you don't want to be anywhere near the mutant-man. You're terrified being in the same building as him, and you're just plain ridiculous when you're in the same room as him. You're just a damned coward is what you are. A selfish, cowardly, arrogant bastard." Ed ranted out. He'd wanted to say that and more for a while now. Oh how good it felt to speak freely… he really couldn't wait to get back to Al. "And as for me, there's no way in hell I'd give myself over to some creep like him. Not even if he offered me everything I'd ever wanted. I'd rather die than serve someone like him. Hell, I'd take _Mustang_ any day over him, much to my own disbelief. So I guess you're stuck being my guard for the time being. Not that _I_ enjoy it either."

Draco's fist clenched and unclenched, as red crept up his neck and stained his face in angry blotches. The short blonde just summed up most of the topics going that have been going through Draco's head over the past few days, and had the gull to call him a _coward_. Draco knew he was proud maybe a bit conceited at times, but he wasn't in an easy situation. Draco wanted to live, and defying the Dark Lord wouldn't get him too far in that respect. He was holding _onto_ his life, not throwing it _away_. And this hot-headed fool says he'd rather die if he were in Draco's situation? He must have been utterly mental. Or Gryffindor. Most probably both. Draco spun on his heel and stomped a few feet away. When he stopped, he folded his arms, put his nose in the air and began to say something.

"Natty!" he called out, and with a small '_pop!_' the skittish house elf appeared before him.

"M-master calls Natty?" she asked, shaking nervously as she glanced over at Ed.

"Yes, go find Mother and tell her I need to go use the restroom." He ordered, and it nodded and with another _'pop!'_ disappeared.

Ed gaped. Ed didn't know Draco could call the elf and have it deliver messages. _Well there goes my plan to escape quietly_, he thought. Not that it was much his style anyways. Ed sighed as he prepared himself to inflict some damage. He was cut off, however, when the elf reappeared suddenly and delivered the message.

"Lady Narcissa-mam says yous would be okay just going. Lady-mam says the boy's not going no wheres. Says you shouldn't take much time she says. That's all Mam-Lady says!" she squeaked and with another _'pop!'_ she was gone.

Draco twitched.

"Well if I'd have known I could have just gone in the first place… Blast it! I'm just going to go." He turned to speak to Ed. "Have fun by yourself in here. I think I _will_ take my time." And with a final sniff, he was off.

Ed pretended to glower. It wasn't a difficult task.

"Finally! He took forever to get rid of! Eh heh he . . . now I can finally get _out_ of this hell hole!" Ed applauded himself once Draco was out of sight.

He hadn't been so gleeful since kicking that nasty woman's throat in.

Ed clapped his hands and moved the stone bars out of his way. He jogged down the corridor to the stairs Draco had just disappeared past. He warily walked up the steps and listened for any movement on the upper floor. There was nothing, so he kept moving. As he climbed the steps, he realized that the light source for the staircase were torches. _Floating_ torches. He passed his hand up, beneath and around the torch, looking for some sort of wire, or _anything_, that was holding it up. He looked rather disturbed when he didn't find anything. He ran up the rest of the steps and opened the door at the end.

Coast clear, he thought, as he took in his surroundings. For the most part, the place he was in was a giant hunk of hollowed out stone, with a sparse rug or chair. The room he stepped into was large, probably what was supposed to be a living room type area, he figured. He saw a window, and ran over to it in delight.

"Freedom! Almost free, so close, so close, so – wait a second…" As Ed looked down, he saw water. His eye twitched. "Why, of all things . . . why _water?_ Why not man-eating dogs, or scorching deserts, or a bottomless pit?" He squinted his eyes and tried to see past the water.

Nothing. Just water.

Now Ed wasn't a bad swimmer. At least he thought so. It'd been about four years since he'd swam after all. Since obtaining his automail limbs, water had generally become a big no-no. His original automail limbs would cause him to sink, and even if he managed to stay afloat, the limbs would rust easily… although he just had an automail upgrade suitable to snow. Snow was technically just frozen water, right? Ed pushed the thought down. He wasn't going to risk drowning. He probably couldn't swim that far anyhow. He imagined himself sinking in the water, desperately splashing around trying to stay afloat in efforts to save himself from drowning, and Draco in the background laughing his head off.

He paused. Yeah, he'd take a look at other options.

Ed moved away from the window and moved to open a large double-door exit. Looked promising enough, he figured. As he cracked the door open, he looked to see if he saw anyone in the next room. It seemed empty. He moved in past the doors and looked around. Now he was in a long narrow corridor with rows if doors on either sides. Everything was still made out of stone, even the doors, he duly noted. Ed bounded for the other side. As he reached the door he hastily pried it open and was thankful for the fact that no one was behind it. He then found himself in what appeared to be a sitting room of sorts. There were a few rather cozy looking rugs, couches and loveseats furnishing the room, and a merry fire blazing in the hearth. Ed walked over to the table stationed between the couches and loveseats. There were documents on the table, and Ed figured they looked important, so he picked them up and gleefully shoved them inside his coat. He snickered deviously, and began to make his move again. As he reached for the door knob, it twisted and pushed open towards Ed on its own. Once the door opened, Draco gaped at him in shock.

Ed almost didn't know what to do at first, but after a split second, he sprung back and poised himself in a ready stance, and was about to attack when Draco's attention suddenly shifted away from him. The platinum blonde haired boy looked to his right at something Ed couldn't see, and then he looked back at Ed as if he were having some sort of inner conflict. The boy's eyes shifted a few more times, before one side of his inner battle apparently won and he took a step forward and pointed his wand at Ed. Ed's eyes narrowed and before the other boy could do anything he leapt forward, a strong left hook clocked Draco in the jaw. The velocity of the punch slammed Draco back out into the hallway and crashing to the floor.

Stunned, Draco cradled the right side of his face as pain blossomed from his jaw to his ear with each pulse of his erratic heartbeat.

He regained his senses a moment too late as he reached out for his wand which rolled just out of his reach when he fell. Ed already prepared for this; he grabbed Draco's reaching arm and twisted it guilelessly behind the other boy's back, eliciting a strangled cry. Ed shoved Draco back to the ground and grabbed the wand before the other was able to recover. Draco's already pale complexion turned ashen as he remained frozen upon seeing his only means of defense in his _prisoner's_ hand.

Ed examined the wand briefly before shoving it somewhere in his coat. Draco attempted to shout for help, but he could already feel the swelling in his face developing, and attempted movement of his jaw sent daggerlike jolts of pain soaring up the right side of his skull to his ear. He blinked back furious tears and stood up, despite the wave of nausea that coiled inside him. Ed scowled, unsympathetic towards his physical pain.

"Since you ruined my plan to sneak out quietly, tell me how to get out of here and I won't beat your face in anymore."

"You can go shove your plan right up yo –" Draco forced himself to say before being cut off.

"Draco? What are you – "Draco's father came into view from around a corner in the hall, and momentarily stood shocked as the revelation that the prisoner was no longer imprisoned registered in his brain.

Ed didn't wait that long. With an almost unnoticeable clap and brush of glove covered flesh to metal, a blade protruded from his arm and found its way alarmingly close to the injured boy's jugular.

"Take me to an exit and I won't kill him," Ed hoped his anxiety didn't bleed through his voice or his face. He should have known sneaking around would only cause him trouble. He should have just knocked Blondie Jr. out in the dungeon and clamorously made his way out as he did in every situation. He felt Draco start to tremble under the pressure of the sharp blade. The father kept up his stoic demeanor, but Ed had a suit of armor for a brother; he could read the concern and fear on this man's face as clear as day. Ed felt a bit despicable. Taking hostages was cowardly and against everything belief Ed had. But desperate times…

"That room." Draco's father answered, eyes visibly narrowing in a cold glare. He pointed back to the room Ed just came from.

Ed snorted, and increased the grip of his flesh arm around Draco. Draco inhaled sharply and trembled excessively in response.

_At this rate, he'll be cutting open his own throat_, Ed thought grimly. _Not that I ever really intended to kill him,_ he quickly reassured himself.

"For your son's sake you really shouldn't be lying to me right now," Ed leered as maliciously as he could in attempts to keep his personae up, reminding himself vaguely of Greed in the process.

"There is a bowl with silver powder above the fireplace. Throw it into the fire and walk into the green flames. State a designation and you may be taken there," the man spoke in clipped sentences. "Or if you prefer, you can kill my son and myself, and be killed… or worse, by the werewolves downstairs."

Ed wasn't sure if he almost laughed or lost his composure at the word werewolf. The word brought together memories of both chimera with their monstrous strength and the awful horror stories Winry would try to scare everyone with (and only succeeding in scaring herself) when they were children. These people believe in magic, teleportation fireplaces, and werewolves. Fantastic.

"Do it then," Ed instructed. At the man's confused look, Ed clarified, "put the silver stuff in the fireplace and go in. Don't try anything else or you're not even gonna get the chance for a tearful goodbye with your son." He may have been doing too well channeling his inner bad guy. The man just nodded in response.

Ed veered backwards towards the fireplace to keep the man in his sight, blade still at Draco's throat. Draco's father pulled some of the powder out of the bowl, threw it in the fireplace, and… walked right in. If Ed weren't so desperate to get out, he might have freaked out a little bit. He didn't really believe the guy would do it. He supposed there was always time for a mental breakdown later.

As Draco's father left the fireplace, Ed moved towards it.

Draco was still held under Ed's automail blade. A long thin red line ran horizontally across his throat, joining the large bruise that was rapidly swelling and staining the right side of his face and neck.

When he finally managed to shuffle directly in front of the fireplace, he was prepared to let Draco go and get the hell out of there. If it wasn't all some huge hallucination, anyways. He lowered the blade away from Draco's throat and loosened his left arm's hold.

And then the psycho woman came through the door.

She screeched incoherently upon spotting Ed and flung her arm out so violently that Ed flinched, thinking that the wand in her possession would hurl across the room and hit him in the face.

Fortunately, nothing hit Ed in the face.

Unfortunately, a spell hit Draco in the face.

Draco screamed as the force of the spell cajoled the both of them back into the green blaze of the fireplace – and suddenly the world appeared to be spinning out of control.

* * *

Dumbledore leaned forward, the ever present twinkle in his eyes dimmed, and worry lines creased his face.

"Please elaborate, Severus," he requested.

Snape's posture slacked slightly, and he pulled a chair up in front of Dumbledore, and sat down.

"I'm afraid I'm not so much in the Dark Lord's good graces as we hoped myself to be in," Snape informed and then frowned. "Since the end of the term last year, He's been having me research dimensional portals and openings, binding and sealing spells, and summoning to blood rituals. Four days ago, I stumbled upon something he was interested in, and he used what I found and put it into action." Tonks gasped, while Dumbledore looked forlorn.

"He was trying to summon a beast to do his bidding but it failed, I presume?" Dumbledore delved.

Snape shook his head.

"No, by all means, the summoning and binding worked – however, it was no beast that was summoned. A boy, Dumbledore, it was a small boy. Albeit the boy had extreme physical capabilities, he was certainly no beast. When the Dark Lord questioned me on why he appeared, I had no answer he appreciated. According to the books and scrolls I read from, the summoner gets something in accordance to his own power level, and as you can imagine, the Dark Lord was not pleased upon hearing this.

"And that's not the end of it. The boy was questioned and it was discovered in his world science reigned, and magic was but a mockery. The boy refused to believe in magic even after being attacked with several spells – including the cruciatus curse numerous times. After finding no immediate use for him, the Dark Lord sent him to the dungeons, with a guard stationed by him at all times. And after three days, he managed to escape. The bars to the cell he was locked in appeared to have moved out of the way to make an exit, and… he managed to floo out of the building despite being hounded by three death eaters." Dumbledore leaned forward some more and stared intently at Snape.

"So, what you're saying is that the boy indeed did have some magical properties, and used it to escape?" he asked.

Snape nodded.

"It would appear to be so, although... that would mean the binding spell had no effect, as the Dark Lord ordered the boy to answer his questions honestly." Snape answered.

"Or... it could be that Voldemort wasn't asking the right questions." Snape looked perplexed. "Tell me Severus, what was this boy called?"

"He said his name was Edward Elric."


	5. A Smile for Something Lost

"Severus. Lucius," a piercing voice stiffly acknowledged. The two Death Eaters kneeled before their master, as he glared down at them. "I am highly disappointed in the two of you."

The three men were in a vast cylindrical library. Book upon book filled ominously tall shelves, a musty aroma permeated the air about them, and the only light source in the room was an undersized window layered with grime and half covered with books stacked upon a table in front of it. There was an unlit fireplace squeezed in between two prominent bookshelves – no other exit could be immediately detected. The floor was decorated with an intricate rug of an unidentifiable color, as the meager light source was hardly enough to form the silhouettes identifying the three figures in the room.

Voldemort's pale skin seemed to shimmer in the darkness and his eyes glowed in fury – ultimately betraying his expressionless face. The two black robed forms huddled in front of him shuddered and locked gazes with the floor.

"I leave the two of you with simple tasks, and yet you utterly fail me. Tell me once more, Lucius, what happened with the boy?" said Voldemort.

A sickly looking blonde man shuffled and held his head down.

"I-I was guarding the boy in place of my son, sir. He didn't appear to be a threat and he never spoke to me once. I left for a short while – to see my wife, m' Lord – and when I returned he had already escaped… the bars to his cell appeared to have moved out of the way for him. As I left the basement to alert the rest of the prisoner, I found Bellatrix unconscious in the waiting room and saw him momentarily as he escaped using the floo connection." Lucius Malfoy spoke slowly.

Voldemort watched him for a long moment, his red eyes aloof.

"Can Bellatrix confirm this, Lucius?" he queried smoothly.

"Whatever the boy did to Bellatrix caused her to forget the encounter entirely, my Lord."

"I see. And your son? Where is he?"

Lucius managed to keep his face impassive, but his reply was reluctant.

"My son begins at Hogwarts soon. Narcissa took him home yesterday morning in preparation of his leave."

"Yes, I suppose that is appropriate. He still has his… assignment this year to achieve. I expect he won't fail my expectations?"

"No, Sir." Voldemort's thin lips stretched grotesquely as his calculative eyes drank in Lucius's unease and aversion of eye contact.

He shifted his attention to Snape.

"And Severus, what did you discover about the spell?"

"Sir, the spell… it should have summoned something equal or greater to your power and flawlessly bound it to you. I found no mistake in the ritual you performed, the sacrifices were all managed appropriately, the symbols and wards drawn correctly – it was merely the boy we did not expect," informed Snape.

"So, you mean to say the spell worked flawlessly? That my power is only equal to that of a boy whose only useful skill is lying while ordered to reveal the truth?"

"However, my Lord, it seems as though the boy has abilities we were not aware of. Perhaps he is quite powerful after all…" attempted Snape.

Voldemort's mute rage broke free.

"Silence! I refuse to have my power compared to that of a – a –a _little boy's_! Dealing with Harry Potter has been troublesome enough as it is! I do not need another child to bother myself with as well!" Voldemort clamored.

The kneeling form of Severus Snape recoiled slightly.

"Perhaps though – perhaps the boy _does_ have power we are unaware of. We could examine him, and discover whether his method of magic is worth learning. He obviously works without a wand – that may be a benefit in itself." Snape tried to salvage his situation.

"Yes, yes. Perhaps the boy does have powers worth examining, but how do you suppose we examine him? Oh yes, if I recall correctly, you allowed him to escape!" he hissed at Lucius. "I ordered to have someone stand guard over him _at all times_ to ensure something like this didn't happen. Yet, you disobey my commands! The two of you will find this boy and bring him to me _alive_. This time the boy will tell me _everything._" He pointed his wand at the two still kneeling on the ground. "But first, the two of you will learn the consequences of insulting my command.

"_Crucio._"

The Death Eaters' screams echoed throughout the vast library as the insatiable darkness swarmed the room.

"Yes, Edward Elric. We will see exactly how much use you can be." His cold shrill laughter mingled with the screams of his subjects – and suddenly the world seemed to trickle away as an ebony haired boy woke amidst a nightmare clutching the angry scar searing his forehead, the echoes of cruel laughter fused with screaming still echoing in his skull.

"Harry, you alright there?" asked a red headed boy reading an animated comic in a cot across the room. He examined Harry in concern. "Whoa, you really don't look well. Should I go get Mum or someone from the Order?" Harry's eyes widened as the Order was mentioned.

"No! No, Ron. Thanks, but I'm fine. Really. I just had another nightmare is all," he lied.

Ron eyed him suspiciously.

"You sure there? You were mumbling out things like rituals and powers and the sort," he gaped belatedly, "-wait, Harry, don't tell me you had another vision? You did, didn't you? We have to get the Order!"

"Hold on a moment Ron, don't jump to conclusions, for all I know it _could_ have just been a nightmare, or something Voldemort's sent me himself. There's no need to jump to conclusions so quickly… we both know how well that went the last time…" Harry insisted. Ron went quiet for a moment, and cast his eyes down.

"Yeah, I 'spose you're right about that. But we still should tell the Order just in case it _is_ a real vision. I mean, we won't go off and do anything about it or anything…" he awkwardly glanced up at Harry before diverting his eyes to one of the several Chudley Cannons posters lining his walls and ceiling. "And, uh, look. If you need to talk about, _you know. _ Me 'n 'Mione are here for you. For, you know, to talk to. We've been worried about you since the end of term. You never open up to either of us. So, just know that we _are_ here for you…" he trailed off.

Harry looked down at his lap.

"Yeah, I know you two are and I appreciate it… I'm just… not ready to talk about – _him_ yet. You understand, right? Someday, definitely I'll talk to you about it. Just not today." _or tomorrow, or the next day, and probably the next several years after that._ Harry sighed. Ron smiled sadly.

"Alright, mate. But, just know we'll be here for you." Harry smiled an honest smile, and was about to reply when the door crashed open revealing a disgruntled Hermione.

"I can't believe the two of you are still asleep up here. Its half past noon already! If you don't get up already, I'll…" she trailed off sheepishly as she realized they were awake.

"'Morning to you too, 'Mione," grumbled Ron as Harry laughed quietly.

"Oh – I'm terribly sorry about that. I didn't mean to nag the two of you. It's just that I've been awake for _hours_, and Fleur is downstairs charming every male she comes across. She's just terribly annoying if you ask me. And its noon, Ron. Not morning." Ron turned to look at Harry.

"She doesn't mean to nag, she says," he said dryly. Hermione's eyes narrowed, and with a sharp turn on her heel, she muttered something that sounded suspiciously like '_Boys' _and stalked off downstairs.

The two boys exchanged glances and snickered at Hermione's expense.

And then, Harry Potter remembered the name Edward Elric.

* * *

Janus Vause's hand trembled visibly as he brought an old ceramic teacup to his lips. His eyes flittered nervously to a painting on the wall. The painting of a middle aged man wearing formal attire one might expect from the dark ages stared back. His deep onyx eyes glittered mischievously and his smirk widened.

Janus squeaked and dropped his cup, spilling Earl Grey down his white threadbare shirt. Startled by the scalding liquid, he jumped out of his seat, effectively knocking over his chair and ramming his thigh into the heavy handmade drawing table in front of him. Cursing, he favored one leg as he studiously ignored the painting's snicker and hobbled over to the small kitchen to wipe the excess tea off the last good shirt he had with him on this mockery of a retreat. He rubbed at his eyes vigorously as he _didn't_ see the tea kettle he just put in the sink fill itself up and hop to the stove to heat up some more water.

That's right, he saw nothing at all.

That painting wasn't smirking, the kettle wasn't heating itself up, the mirror certainly wasn't insulting him every morning with his choice of attire, and the dustbin certainly did not burp each time he threw something away.

Because that was just crazy, and Janus Vause was not crazy.

He wished his boss never forced him to come out here, mandatory vacation be damned.

But yes, Janus Vause was not crazy. So when he heard a blood curdling scream and watched as dumbfounding green flames sprung out of his unlit fireplace and hurtled two blonde boys out into the living area, he most certainly did not yell bloody murder and run out the back of the cheaply rented cabin.

Except that he did.

He would never trust strange old men in horribly matching clothing ever again.

* * *

Ed grunted as he pushed the limp form of his former prison guard off him. He sat up slowly, his head still spinning from his impromptu trip to wherever-the-hell he was. He gave up rationalizing how he _got_ anywhere in the first place before he even had the chance to think about it. Less time thinking whatthehell, more time thinking how to get home. Al and Winry needed him. He really couldn't afford to stick around these wackos any longer.

After the vertigo passed, he breathed deeply and looked over at the unconscious blonde to his right. The dark bruise on his face was a stark contrast to the almost translucent paleness of his skin. Ed almost felt bad. The boy clearly wasn't used to pain, and his vanity would make the ugly stain on his face that much worse. He deserved it though, the prick.

Well, he was alive, and that's all Ed really needed to concern himself with. He noticed his automail arm was still bladed and returned it to normal.

Ed pushed himself onto his feet and took in his surroundings, and a small, homely cabin met his eyes. The fireplace was void of fire, a wooden chair was splayed on the ground next to an overturned teacup, and a kettle which had just begun whistling jumped off its red-hot burner and poured water into two prepared cups. Ed pretended not to see that. He walked to the open back door of the cabin and looked out.

A forest. Well it beat a lake, _that_ much was undeniable. He could walk out of a forest – and a cabin would have some sort of path or road connecting to civilization, right? He hoped so anyways. He should probably check the front for that.

A groan rang throughout the room as Ed made his way to the front door past the kitchen. Ed spared him a glance before muttering darkly and ignoring him completely.

"Ugh, ow. Shit, my whole damned head fuckin' _hurts_. Shitshitshit," Draco started whining as he sat up and cradled his head in his hands. "Bugger this. What the hell happened? Father?"

Ed paused as he reached for the handle of the door. He withdrew his hand and turned around to examine the other boy. He was sitting up, eyes open, and feeling out his surroundings. A horrible, horrible thought crawled its way into Ed's mind.

"HELLO?" Draco shouted, wincing with each syllable. "HELLO? IS ANYONE HERE-"

"AUGH, SHUT UP, JACKASS!" Ed interjected. "No one else is here, so just shut up and look over here a second."

"_You_? Please tell me we're back in the dungeons, and how can I look anywhere? Its darker than night in here, you imbecile." Draco squinted in the direction of a tattered sofa. Ed cursed under his breath.

"I'll bet it is. Sorry to break the news to you buddy ol' pal, but you're blind." Being direct was always the best way to go. Except for when it wasn't.

Which was just about always.

The other boy halted his movements and widened his sightless eyes.

"Bullshit," he denied. Ed walked over and kneeled in front of him. He grabbed his chin and tried to look at his eyes. Draco tore away and kicked Ed in his right shin, resulting in a metal clang.

"Oh come on, I'm trying to help you, you idiot!" Ed asserted. Draco scooted backwards until he hit the log wall.

"Help me? You were just trying to _kill_ me a few minutes ago!"

"I'm starting to think I should have," Ed growled. "Stop being a baby and just let me take a look at your eyes."

"Oh, well you're going to have to be more polite than that if you want to gaze into my eyes, Elric!"

Ed glared and restrained himself from committing murder. _Not that anyone would know…_

"Fine. Stay here in this random cabin in the middle of the creepy dark woods until whoever lives here gets back, and then _they_ can help you. If I'm lucky it'll be some nice old lady who'll give you lots of sweets 'til you're fat and then cook you in the oven. Have a nice short life, asshole." Ed twisted back around to the front door and marched off. The other remained silent briefly.

"C-cook me in the oven…?" he whispered to himself. "Wait! WAIT? Where are you going? Who lives here? Where is this? Come back!" Draco tried not to sound desperate, but stick with the enemy you know, right? Having opened the front door during Draco's spiel, Ed stuck his fingers in his ears and continued his march out.

"Can't hear you, can't hear you, can't heeeaaaar you!" He sang out. Draco awkwardly stood up and blindly hobbled to the door, and hit his face on the doorframe.

"Bloody – Alright, already! Stop! Look! If you help me, I'll help you!" This caught Ed's attention.

"No offense, but you don't seem the type to keep your word. Actually, take offense. I really don't like you." Ed continued walking.

"Shit, ow. _Fuck,_" Draco muttered as he stumbled forward in effort to catch Ed. "Listen here, maybe I'm not the most noble person in the world, ("-no kidding?-") but even I have my honor. Help me and I'll help you," he held his hands out in a placating gesture (in the direction of a tree, which was decidedly not Ed), "If anything, I'm more at risk for trusting _you_. Don't think I forgot about that bloody sword you pulled on me out of _nowhere_, not to mention you still have my wand. Are you really going to leave a defenseless, injured blind man on his own in the middle of the woods with… ovens?"

"Hmm, yup. That sounds about right. See ya." Ed waved pointlessly and kept following the trail. He could see tire tracks which meant the path had to lead to other people at some point. The soft breeze lifted the branches of the trees and – It felt so unbelievably refreshing after days of being stuck in a filthy cell. Ed paused a moment and looked over himself, cringing at what he saw. He really needed to bathe.

"Oh come _on_! I'll tell you everything I know! I know the person who found the spell that brought you here and – _shit_ –" he tripped over a rock and teetered over during his plead. Ed turned around and wondered if he really knew anything useful. He wasn't someone Ed would trust with any privy information, even if they _were_ on the same side. Then again, no one he met here had been sane yet. He sighed and slowly walked back to him.

"Okay, you win. Now shut up, and let me see what's wrong with you. Well, wrong physically anyways, I'm sure there's way too much wrong with that sad excuse of a brain you have in that fat head of yours for me to figure out," Draco started to retort, but was interrupted by Ed. "I said _Shut. Up._" he ground out, glowering in annoyance.

Ed ignored the bruising and thin cut along Draco's throat. The bruise would probably take a few weeks to heal completely and the cut not nearly so long. He grabbed Draco's chin again to hold it steady (and ignored the scowl growing deeper on the other boy's face) and took a look at his eyes. The coloration was normal and the pupils were small from the fair amount sunlight that managed to filter through the thick canopy of trees. Ed hummed under his breath and used his hand to block the sunlight from his eyes and held it there a moment.

"The dilation of your pupils is perfectly normal in terms of both size and speed, which is a good sign," Ed paused a moment before remembering something, "But the thing that woman hit you with… do you know what it was? I mean, that thing you people do with these sticks, the lights and whatnot." Draco refrained himself from correcting everything Ed said regarding magic and tried to remember what happened.

"Aunt Bellatrix… I don't remember what spell she did. I was a bit too preoccupied with getting away from the madman with a sword to my throat," he muttered. Ed sniggered.

"Bellatrix? That's her name, seriously? Wow, and here I was thinking _Draco_ was bad enough," he chuckled some more before continuing, "And I don't have a sword, you must have been seeing things."

"_Seeing things?_ I had blood running down my neck from _whatever_ it was you had pressed across my throat while prepared to _kill_ me. And refer to me as Malfoy. I'm tired of your insults and hearing you say my given name makes me want to kick you in the face." Ed was sure _Malfoy_ wanted to do much more than kick him in the face.

"Go ahead and try. You might get my shin again," Ed shrugged.

There was a small silence (-_I kicked his shin_?-) before Draco reluctantly spoke up.

"The cabin, go see if there's any floo powder around the fireplace."

"Flew what? And what about your eyes? Did you figure out what happened?"

"_Floo powder_. That silver powder you throw in the fire. And whatever my aunt did was probably some nasty spell or curse, which can be fixed when I get home. And I can _get home_ if there is some floo powder in this stupid place." Draco really just wanted to go home and hide in his room forever, and hope the Dark Lord forgot about him.

Fat chance.

"Hmph, fine I'll go look. But you're not going anywhere until you tell me everything you know, _Malfoy_." They both stood up and headed back to the cabin, the wizard taking much shorter steps than the alchemist.

Ed walked up to the fireplace and looked at the items strewn about the mantle.

"Silver powder, silver powder, silver – ah!" He opened an urn and found what was probably floo powder. Or someone's ashes, but he was really hoping for the former. "Found it, probably."

Draco rushed over from the entrance (as well as a newly blind boy could, anyhow) and gave a small relieved grin.

"Brilliant. Now give me my wand and I can go home."

"Aha, not just yet. I think its time you answer all of my questions."

Draco froze as he recalled his deal.

He really hoped no one (read: The Dark Lord) found out about this.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy stood over her slumbering husband and gently ran her hand down his (temporarily) peaceful face.

She thought about the young boy probably her son's age the Dark Lord summoned from another world.

She thought about the Unbreakable Vow she made with Severus to keep her son safe.

She thought about the day Lucius came home with panic and fear written in his expression as he attempted to explain that He was back, and that it was a wonderful thing.

She thought about a lot of things.

But most importantly, she thought about how she was going to destroy Bellatrix Lestrange for harming her son.

She was her sister no longer.


	6. Not Quite Right

Ed sat cross-legged on the uneven hardwood floor, the urn containing floo powder resting beside him as he waited for Malfoy to stop fidgeting and answer his questions.

Draco Malfoy sat gingerly on the small sofa placed near the fireplace. His blind eyes darted around as he ran a nervous hand through his disheveled hair.

Draco could hear as Ed's fingers drummed rhythmically on the hardwood floor. Four fingers hit the ground in rapid succession (_pinky-ring-middle-index)_, followed by a pause, then four fingers again. He sat up straighter on the edge of his seat and opened his mouth to speak, closing it when no words came out. He sighed into his hands, cringing when he touched his swollen jaw.

"Okay, time's up. First question, where is Amestris?" Ed's languid voice boomed through the overt silence, causing Draco to wince.

"I – I don't, I really don't know. I told you, _He_ brought you to this world through some sort of spell. I don't know the specifics, but I know who _does_ know." His voice adopted a slower and softer cadence in response to his sudden awareness of the splintering pain in his jaw. Ed rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, his head tilting back slightly in the process.

"The countries Drachma, Creta, Aerugo, Xing; where are they?" his voice was bland, and his eyes dull.

"Uh, I don't… think… Uh – "

"What do you know about alchemy?" Ed interjected after sighing deeply. Draco was surprised but pleased at the sudden turn of subject.

"Alchemy? It's the transmutation of substances, turning lead into gold and the sort." He felt relieved at being asked something he could answer. Ed's posture straightened as he gave the other boy a hard look.

"So there are alchemists here…" Ed murmured to himself.

"Of course, but it's a fairly archaic practice now. There's always someone trying to become the second Nicolas Flamel and create another philosopher's stone, but most people have put _that_ pipe dream behind them and now its use is mainly in accordance with potions and transfiguration." Draco continued, thinking Ed was speaking to him. Ed almost interrupted Malfoy at the mention of alchemy being archaic, but was startled out of response when the philosopher's stone was brought up. He shook his head and decided now was not the time for dealing with philosopher's stones.

Confused by the silence, Draco continued.

"There's an alchemy class at school, but there's usually not enough people that sign up for it to actually put a class together. I signed up for it, but I don't think – "

"Look, I'm not asking for your friggen' autobiography here! I don't care about you or your school; I want to go home. Tell me if there is anything you know that might help me achieve that." Ed interrupted again, still charged from the unexpected shock of hearing about the philosopher's stone.

Draco scoffed and sunk back into the sofa. Why didn't he just ask that in the first place?

"…Snape," he began. "Severus Snape. He's the one that knows all about how you got here. He found the spell that brought you here and he set everything up too. All that I know is what I saw and heard that day. That big black thing and those hands…." Ed remembered too. The gate, that _laugh_. There had been several transmutation circles (some familiar, most not) scrawled all over the dark room, but getting a good look at them hadn't been forefront in his mind at the time. It was difficult to comprehend it had already been several days since then. It was even more unbelievable he'd managed to resist escaping for so long.

"Where can I find him?" Ed asked. Draco smirked haughtily directly at Ed, surprising him into momentarily thinking the other had only been acting blind the entire time. That brief thought was scrapped when Draco's grey eyes failed to focus, leaving him with a glazed stare.

Draco leaned back and tilted his head slightly. "You could find him by coming back with me and giving yourself up to the Dark Lord," he casually suggested. Ed growled.

"I don't think you realize the position you're in right now, _Malfoy._ If you don't help me, I'm going to leave you blind in the middle of this forest without your damned stick." Ed hissed. The smirk was still plastered on Draco's warped face.

"Relax, it was a joke. Mostly." he started, his expression slowly becoming solemn. He closed his eyes and released his posture entirely as he slumped back into the sofa. "Being stranded blind and defenseless in the middle of a forest might not be so bad in comparison to what I'll have to face when I return." He smiled grimly. "When the Dark Lord discovers you escaped while under my guard, even if I _did_ somehow manage to turn things around now and toss your sorry arse back into a cell – I've already screwed up," he covered one of his closed eyes with a hand, his speech becoming increasingly frantic. "This might be it for me. He has no reason to keep me alive other than to keep my parents in line and have me as a pawn. This might be –" Ed hurled the urn containing floo powder at Draco's head. The lid fell off midflight and spewed silver powder throughout the room.

A vein bulged in Ed's temple as he jumped up from the floor.

"Oh, _boo hoo_! Some mean snake-faced freak is going to kill me because I'm an incompetent dumbass who can't follow orders!" Ed mocked. "Tough shit! Maybe you should try growing a pair and make your own decisions. You don't have to go crawling back to anyone, let alone some mutant you're pretty sure is going to kill you."

"What could you possibly understand about any of this?" Draco ground out, his face burning red. "What could you possibly understand about any of this at all? If I go back, I _might_ be killed. If I don't go back, I'll be hunted down and killed _no questions asked_!" His hands moved out in exaggerated gestures.

"If you're so abject to Snake-face as to let him kill you, maybe I should just do it for him. You're pathetic." Ed sneered and narrowed his eyes.

"_Stop calling him that! _The Dark Lord is going to create a better world! Serving him it-it's a privilege. As long as his orders are followed…" Draco trailed off and stood, pulling at his hair.

"Ooh, so now this isn't about how he's going to kill you, but how he's going to create a better world?" Ed barked out a laugh. "Don't try to feed me that bullshit. You care more about yourself than the world. Trust me, I know a selfish person when I meet them; I'm one myself. Stop trying to vindicate yourself."

"Well, since you seem to know _everything_, what would you do? Kill him?" Draco's voice and expression were incredulous.

"Since you so conveniently brought it up; yes. Yes I would." Ed answered bluntly while crossing his arms.

"You-" Malfoy chortled hysterically for a short moment. "You really – I can't kill –"

"You're right, you _can't_ kill. You don't have the spine."

"I can! I can kill – I have to kill Dumbledore –"

"Can you?" Ed egged.

"I –"

" – Can't." Ed finished. Draco swore frantically under his breath while vigorously rubbing his eyes. After pacing a few times, he managed to somewhat compose himself.

"It has nothing to do with you." Draco stated resolutely. "I've answered you questions. Give me back my wand and let me go." His blind stare was hard and aimed at nothing in particular. His composed demeanor and haggard state might have worked well together in a farce of intimidation… if Ed were one to be intimidated.

Ed pulled out the wand he nicked not too long ago and ran a hand down the polished surface.

"You never answered my last question properly. How can I find Severus Snape?" he twirled the misappropriated piece of wood between his fingers, wondering not for the first time how it worked.

Malfoy's jaw clenched painfully in aggravation as he resigned himself to answering.

"Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, begins in a week on September 1st. Professor Snape lives and teaches there. That is likely your only viable option for finding him outside of Death Eater meetings." Ed snorted. They _would_ call themselves Death Eaters. Draco held out his hand. Ed smirked and waved the wand in front of the other boy's face.

"Not so fast. Where is this school and how do I get to it?"

"Do I look like a bloody travel station to you? The school is somewhere in Scotland, the students get there by train the morning of September 1st. The _train station_ is in London's King's Cross Station, Platform 9 ¾." Ed reached for his notebook and pen to write the information down, only to find them missing. He searched the rest of his coat to find only the papers he nicked earlier. He didn't remember being stripped of his items, nor did he understand why he was only just now noticing now that many of his possessions were missing.

Something wasn't right. These were details he would usually never miss. Had they been taken during his escape? Before that? How could he have not noticed sooner? Perplexed, he ceased his search and bitterly committed the information to memory instead.

"Don't expect much help from Snape even if you do manage to find him." Malfoy sneered. Ed sighed.

"Getting information through unconventional means happens to be one of my finest skills." he mused. "As for the validity of the information… Why should I believe anything you're saying?"

"Why should I lie? If I know your intentions and location I'll be able to inform the Dark Lord. Besides, the information you're asking of me is common knowledge among the wizarding world. If you need validation, ask anyone." His tone was indignant.

"Right, of course. I'll just walk up to the first horribly dressed person I find, and they'll probably be _magical_ and tell me everything I need to know. Wow, magic people sure are nice!" The level of sarcasm was almost lethal. Draco flared up angrily.

"We're done here." he forced out." I've helped you, now you help me. That was the deal, in case you've forgotten."

"Well, you've given me plenty of reason not to help you. If I don't help you, no one will know my intentions." Ed scooped up a handful of the spilled silver powder and watched as it sieved through his fingers. Draco made a frustrated noise.

"We made a deal! I'm endangering myself just by telling you anything, and you're not even going to honor your side of the bargain?" Draco's anxiousness became visible on his face.

"Honor is something I gave up years ago in order to reach my goal." Ed nonchalantly informed. "Give me one good reason why I should help you." The blind boy seemed to shrink into himself and Ed knew it wasn't often the other showed vulnerability to others. He didn't answer for several long moments.

"My family." His voice was quiet, but Ed's glare softened when the words registered. He remembered the crestfallen yet concerned face of the boy's mother, and the protectiveness of his father.

Ed thought of Al.

"Good answer," Ed replied after a grim silence. "You should remember that for the future." Malfoy crossed his arms and shuffled awkwardly.

Ed went to the fireplace and transmuted a few pieces of wood from the flooring. He paused before starting a fire as a thought of Mustang came to mind. He pulled out the stick again (_wand,_ his subconscious mocked) and twirled it experimentally. "How do… _spells_ work? Can they make fire?"

"…Of course they ca – No, don't even _think_ about trying it." Malfoy warned. "Even if you can use magic, I don't even want to think about the consequences if you screw up a fire spell. You'd either barely manage a spark or fail magnificently and set the place ablaze. If you want to practice magic, do it away from me and try something that might _not_ backfire terribly. And give me my wand!" His previous somber mood was quickly replaced by arrogance.

Ed, of course, was a logical person. So he heeded the advice given to him and – promptly began poking the transmuted wood with the wand, muttering '_burnnnn'._ Draco sputtered and stumbled forward in attempt to find Ed and take his wand back. Ed ignored the blind fumbling behind him and continued poking at the wood.

"You know, in the deal we never said I would give you your stick back. You sort of brought it up after the fact. I'm actually really interested in keeping and examining it." Draco began to argue when suddenly the fireplace abruptly roared to life, the gust knocking Ed down from his bent position over the fireplace.

Ed stared at the merry fire. Then he looked at the stick. Malfoy's and Ed's face reflected each other's in disbelief.

"Wow," Ed said. "That's a bit unstable."

"Great. You can use magic, that's terrific. Now don't ever do it again until I am far, far away! And no, you are not keeping my wand. Steal someone else's!"

"Nope. It's time for you to go back to wherever. Feel free to tell everyone my plans!" Ed swept up a handful of the spilt floo powder from the ground and threw it in the fireplace. The red fire morphed into an eerie green. He manhandled a struggling Draco Malfoy into the harmless flames. "Good luck catching me, and I hope to never see your pointy face again! You're free." He laughed as he turned away and sauntered towards front door of the small cabin, stolen wand in hand.

"You can't just – I need my wand! What are you even going to do out there, you idiot? You're lost in a completely different world!" Draco stepped out of the fire and shouted to the retreating figure. When he couldn't hear the other's footsteps anymore he muttered, "I'm a dead man." His useless eyes cast down and he clenched empty hands together. "Shit." He stepped back into the warm flames of the fire and began to name his destination.

He never got the chance to say it.

* * *

Severus Snape watched as a long metallic blade protruded from the long red sleeves of the coat the short blonde boy wore.

He paused.

Then he watched it happen again.

He walked up to the stilled figure with a blade to another blonde boy's neck; Draco Malfoy's neck.

Draco's eyes were wide and focused on his father standing across the room. Worry and panic were glaringly obvious in the boy's young face.

But that was irrelevant.

Snape watched again as a blade protruded from the sleeves of a long red coat.

Snape's eyes narrowed. They used a search charm on the boy for items before jailing him – which detected and pulled off all of his loose possessions; there were no weapons on him, only miscellaneous items and personal effects such as an embellished silver pocket watch.

So where did this blade come from? Was it summoned? Conjured? Neither?

It made very little sense. There were no incantations, no specific movements that may indicate a spell – _wait_.

Snape watched as a long metallic blade protruded from the long red sleeves of Edward Elric's coat. _After he touched his arm._

Did that mean something? Was the boy able to do something with touch?

Even so, where did the metal come from? In examination of the dungeon he escaped from, the evidence suggests that Edward Elric might have some control over the properties of substances. The ability to transfigure basic elements was Snape's first tentative hypothesis of what the boy employed in order to make his escape. Even with the ability of basic transfiguration, where did the metal come from?

Perhaps Snape was underestimating the boy's ability. Maybe the escapee's cell only suggests basic transfiguration because only basic transfiguration was _necessary_ for the escape. If the boy had an advanced ability of wandless, wordless transfiguration – such a thing would be beyond Snape's comprehension. Transfiguration was a powerful magic. Even the masters of the subject rarely forgo the use of incantations with even the most basic of transfiguration spells. The risk of making a mistake is often far too great to take chances. And transfiguration without a wand? Such a thing just wasn't done. The only exceptions regarding incantations were self-transfigurations, such as animagi and metamorphagi, in which the magic is both from the self and regarding the self.

Is it possible the boy could transfigure parts of himself into non-organic material? Or is it possible he had something metal on him, despite the charms cast to remove any such item? It seemed unlikely. Snape had faith in his casting abilities.

Snape recalled the stunning spell the boy ricocheted off of his right arm after he was summoned.

A prosthetic arm?

The stunning spell is absorbed by all organic material, as well as many inorganic elements. However, there are several compounds of metal the spell has a possibility of rebounding off of.

The way the boy moved, however, would be contrary to the idea of prosthetics. Both arms, legs, and hands were used to fight against the Death Eaters, and mechanics in the muggle world had not yet evolved so greatly as to allow such fluid movement in prosthetics. The idea seemed ridiculous.

But the boy isn't from this world; the Dark Lord mentioned that science was sovereign in the boy's world – perhaps advanced prosthetics were not out of the question. It would raise the question of why a young boy would have such a disfigurement, but regarding the way the boy fought (as if it were familiar, expected) it may be assumed that battle and warfare were not uncommon in the other world.

But perhaps it _was_ conjuration? Snape nearly dismissed this as there was little evidence to point to the boy having such an ability, as well as the boy's disbelieving disposition towards magic. Conjuration – creating something out of nothing – went against all scientific principles.

Snape was unsure what to conclude – if he could conclude anything. The boy may be able to transfigure parts of himself into inorganic materials (which is beyond dangerous in the wizarding world), he may have had some metal on his person (despite Snape's confiscation spells), or he may have a metal arm (a foreign world has foreign means). It could also be that none of Snapes theories were correct.

There was too little to go on to make a proper deduction.

Snape watched as a metallic blade protruded from the sleeves of the long red coat. A long red coat with an insignia on the back.

A _familiar_ insignia on the back.

How could he have not recognized it earlier? Granted, it wasn't a common or well-known symbol, but having once been a student (albeit only for a very brief period of time) of the subject it represented, Snape should have recognized it immediately.

Flamel's insignia.

The boy was an alchemist.

This new revelation raised more questions than it answered.

Snape's face contorted into a glower, and after taking one more look at Draco Malfoy's terrified face, he left Lucius Malfoy's pensieve.


End file.
